


Letters To and From-Road to the Future

by Realityhelix



Series: Letters To and From [1]
Category: Vounous
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 01:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16844596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Realityhelix/pseuds/Realityhelix
Summary: The first of Prince Narcissus' letters home to his brother Fern.





	Letters To and From-Road to the Future

Fern of Agnostos, by the Power of the Serpent, and the Power of our Father,

I have arrived ‘safely’ in this forsaken pile of stones they call a country. There is nought but harsh cold in this place, and the only color comes from the hideously garish clothing the people wear. Even the poorest seem fully furnished in eye-searing tackiness. It is as if they seek to assault the cold itself.

They are rough enough to do so. Their back-country manners are unconcealable. For much too far along my journey, the greater part of my escort was comprised of goats! Now everything stinks of the creatures. Even the cold does not dampen the stench of goat.

At least they seem to have the enthusiasm my coming warrants, though their gifts appear to have little use. I have quite a tidy collection now of over-decorated swatches of cloth, far too big for handkerchiefs, yet much too small for cloaks. They seem to be some kind of traditional gift; nearly every new person I meet presses one upon me with great insistence. There is much open gawking, and my entourage grows with every settlement I pass through. It has been sparse so far, though the number of people grows steadily as we come closer to the capital. It seems many people are moving into the interior of the country, and my coming has given them the excuse, or perhaps the feeling of safety, that they sought before moving out.

Unfortunately, they all must bring their goats with them.

They sing strange, rough songs, foreign stanzas and harmonies, they play unfamiliar instruments that look cobbled together from leftovers, ancient and crude. There are two among them that intrigue me. Of this pair, neither has been head of any village I have passed through, yet all defer to them, without question. It is different from the way our people defer to us, there is no worship for them. It seems more that the people simply believe everything they say, and trust their every judgement. Sometimes they go ahead of the group and emit eerie cries into the air, that echo, seemingly forever. It is as chilling as the cold, brother, and I know not what to make of it. I can scarcely draw breath when we are that far up the mountainside, but somehow they can sing into the nothingness, and then come back and tell us where the road is dangerous, where the ice needs cleared, where the avalanche will come. I know not if it is some unheard of magic, or if they are merely the kind of expert guides that would be needed in such a place as this.

I am told that tomorrow we will breach the final pass into the valley where the capital is located. My ultimate fate awaits me there, no doubt clad in the worst of gaudy colors. Her, they worship. I have heard nothing but her praises since crossing the border, but I already know what she is. A crude soldier who seized a throne she had no right to, a warlord at best. An old maid. A barbarian.

Perhaps there will be fewer goats, at least.

From the Hand of Narcissus of Agnostos, by the Power of the Serpent, and the Power of our Father.


End file.
